Operation Sleeping Beauty
by r4ven3
Summary: Another post-S.10 fic, where all is not as it seems. Massively AU. 6 chapters. (This story has been lying around for a while, and I thought I may as well dust it off.)
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This fic was written some time in 2012, but I'd shelved it once I read oldmule's fic, "Serving Time", and noticed the similarity in plot. Time has passed, and I recognise the differences in the two stories, rather than the similarities, so here it is.**_

_**This story opens 5 months after Ruth's death. Tariq did not die. The story needed his techie expertise, so I decided to grant him a stay of execution. Kudos owns the characters – I just like to mess with them a little.**_

_**And please bear with my plot inadequacies. I love reading plots, but don't much enjoy writing them. **_

_**And another thing …... I have messed a little with the time frame, (for reasons I can no longer remember.)**_

* * *

_Harry's house, London – January 27th 2012:_

Harry has stopped breathing. He only knows that because he's beginning to feel dizzy, the room around him is spinning, tipping, and Malcolm is asking him if he is alright. Once again his eyes gain focus, and Malcolm's face emerges from a mirage of blurring, whirling objects and images.

"Harry -" Malcolm says, louder now. "Breathe!"

Harry takes a breath, and the thudding in his ears slowly fades. "What was that again?"

"We've found her, Harry. She's alive."

"That's what I thought you said," Harry says quietly.

"Are you alright?" Malcolm asks him again. "Is there something I can get you?"

Harry shakes his head, in part as a no to Malcolm, and also to ensure he is awake and hearing this.

"I suppose you want to know how ….. where, and other details."

Harry nods his head slightly. He still hasn't fully caught up with Malcolm's words: `Ruth has been found, Harry. She's alive.' After that, the room around him had begun spinning, and what Malcolm said next was lost as he began to hyperventilate at the same time as he fought back tears, tears he'd not been brave enough to shed in the five months since Ruth had died.

From the moment Ruth's body had been airlifted to hospital, he had begun the steady process of shutting down, and shutting down is something he does well. In the days following her death, Harry had visited the cottage she'd been planning to buy, but had walked out soon after he'd walked in. His throat had begun to close over, and he'd badly needed air. He couldn't buy it as a reminder of her, or even as a gift to her departed soul. He was too raw back then, and he had a need to cover his emotions with a heavy layer of steely indifference. For the most part he carried it off well, but there were times when his pain could be detected through the veneer, a veneer which was only of molecular thickness. His eyes gave it all away; his eyes could not hide the sadness and hurt he felt. The Home Secretary had noticed, as had those he worked with every day. They all recognised that it would only take a wrong word, a laugh when he was feeling especially fragile, or an outburst of hilarity to crack that veneer, and then surely the tears would follow, and who knew how long it would be before he could again bring himself back under control?

In the end, six weeks after Ruth had died, he'd purchased the cottage in Suffolk. He couldn't bear not to. He thought of the purchase as a tribute to her, a way of keeping a part of her with him forever. He thought of it as Ruth's cottage, although he knew as soon as he'd assigned her name to it that it was a mistake to associate the cottage with his dead never-to-be lover. Being Ruth's cottage, it would remain forever deprived of her presence. He'd stayed in it only a handful of nights, sleeping alone in the double bed in the larger of the two bedrooms. He'd woken in the small hours, wondering where she was, and why she was not lying asleep beside him, her legs entangled with his, her hair spread over the pillow, as he'd so often imagined she one day would. One weekend, four and a half months after her death, he'd invited Malcolm to stay there with him. He'd bought a sofa bed and set it up for Malcolm in the smaller of the two bedrooms, the one Ruth had imagined would be his office. He'd hoped that the company of a man who understood the loss of a love never truly gained, plus a bottle or three of good quality single malt would help ease his pain. Malcolm had managed to get partly drunk, and had talked of Sarah, the woman he had lost, chiefly due to his loyalty to the service.

"There's something we have in common, Harry."

"Yes it is, but Sarah is still alive somewhere."

"Yes, I'd rather forgotten that. It's so hard to imagine this battered old world without Ruth in it, analysing the crap out of everything," Malcolm had mused.

Harry had smiled at Malcolm's words, but had needed to swallow the lump which had risen in his throat. Despite a need to not cry, he spoke from his heart when he said, "I miss her, Malcolm."

"I can't imagine what it must be like for you, knowing you'll never …... at least I know Sarah is alive and well and living in …... well, let's just say I know where she lives, and that she is alive and well." Malcolm privately berated himself for using the phrase `alive and well' twice in Harry's presence. From where he was sitting, in an armchair in front of the open fire in the living room of Ruth's cottage, Harry seemed barely alive. He was a shell of a man, going through the motions of living, but never connecting in any meaningful way with his life or the people in it. He had lost weight, and his skin colour was unhealthy from too little sleep, too much whiskey, too little food, and spending too much time indoors under artificial light.

"Does Catherine know?"

"Know what?"

"About Ruth. Does she know who Ruth was, and what she was to you?"

Harry had shifted uncomfortably in his chair, as he remembered Christmas Day with Catherine and her partner, Mark. Catherine could read him almost as well as Ruth had.

"She …... she guessed something had happened."

Catherine had guessed almost immediately.

"What's wrong, Dad?" she'd asked him when she joined him in the kitchen while Mark had been taking Scarlet for a walk, his concession to Catherine's need for private time with her father. "You look so sad. Did you lose another one of your spooks?"

Harry had looked up at her, his eyes startled by her insight.

"This one was different, wasn't it?"

He'd nodded, feeling his eyes fill with tears.

"What was her name?"

Harry knew he needed to say her name, to speak it aloud to another living person, rather than murmuring it in the dark while he tried to sleep, hoping that by some miracle she'd return to him.

"Her name was Ruth. Ruth Evershed. She was …..."

Catherine waited, her hand on Harry's back, where she could feel his distress, his gulping of air into his lungs as he tried to hold himself together.

"I was …... I loved her. I still do. There will never be …... she was the one."

"How did she die?"

And so Harry, for the first time in four months, recounted the story of how Ruth had died. He had kept his eyes downcast, and his voice steady, seeing it all happening again inside his head. Catherine had put her arms around him and held him for a long time. He had not cried then, but he had held on to his daughter and closed his eyes, trying to be thankful for the people in his life who still loved him, despite him being so surly, remote and disconnected. The trouble is, he could have had a thousand people in his life who loved him as Catherine did, and he'd have traded every one of them if it meant he could have Ruth back in his life.

Catherine had asked to see a picture of Ruth, and so he'd opened his wallet and taken out the photograph he carried with him everywhere, the one he'd removed from her personnel file, before it had been archived in the basement of Thames House.

"She …... she looks lovely, Dad, and a bit young for you, I'd say."

"That photo is old. It was taken nine years ago, but she hadn't changed much since then."

He'd taken back the photo, and without looking at it, for fear he'd lose his composure, he'd slipped it back into his wallet, and tucked his wallet into his back pocket. He smiled at the idea of Ruth spending the rest of his life sitting on his backside. She'd done that even in life.

* * *

Malcolm is still speaking, and Harry has only caught part of the story. The Russians had taken her. She'd not died at all. (Harry makes a mental note-to-self to see that Erin and Dimitri do a refresher course in emergency medical aid.) They'd been after him, of course, but Ruth had taken the glass in her own abdomen, when it was meant for him. Harry is relieved that Malcolm has glossed over the medical details. He is in need of bald facts, not background details.

"Where did they take her?"

"To Serbia. Tariq traced the flight to Serbia, and she probably remained there until the FSB realised that they had no reason to hold her over you. They saw how …..."

"Ineffective?"

"No …... they saw how hollow you were. You'd lost your capacity to fight."

"So even the DG and the Home Secretary didn't know the truth."

"No-one did, but now they know to what degree the FSB had infiltrated the public service, _and_ the public health service. Heads will roll."

Harry again looks at the grainy photograph of Ruth and two unknown men in an enclosed yard on a farm forty miles north-east of Cape Town. It is from a satellite feed, and is at maximum zoom, but it is definitely Ruth. She's wearing a brightly coloured skirt with a pale yellow shirt. The wind is blowing her hair in her eyes, and she is holding it away from her face with her fingers while she looks at something to her left, out of range of the satellite camera. The photo clearly shows her profile, and there is no doubt that it is she. Each of the men are carrying rifles. Tariq has identified them as those used by the US military, although that need not mean that the US have a hand in Ruth's kidnapping.

"She's obviously been sold on," Malcolm is saying.

The words `sold on' leave Harry feeling sick with fear for Ruth. This means she was not deemed valuable enough to the Russians, so she was sold to the highest bidder, and the highest bidder could be some sexually perverted psychopath who simply wanted to abuse her body until she was no longer of value to him. He feels a wave of nausea, and he swallows it, bringing his emotions under control, and takes a deep breath.

"How long ago?" Harry asks.

"Only last week. But here's the good news. She and several others who are being held where she is, are again up for sale."

"How do you know this?"

"Young Tariq has been following this. I told you he was the one who first found this footage of her, didn't I?"

Harry nods. "But he didn't say a word to me. Why would he have done that? He knows that Ruth and I …..."

"That was the very reason he didn't tell you. He rang me out of the blue."

"How long ago?"

"Five days ago."

"And it's taken you this long to tell me?"

"Tariq and I had to be sure, firstly that it _is_ Ruth, secondly that she is still alive, and thirdly that she can be extracted safely. Tariq has devised a genius plan. Do you want to hear it?"

"Not really. Not now, at least. It had better be foolproof. I don't want Ruth being put in further danger."

"Oh, it's foolproof, and no gunfire need be exchanged."

"Who will …...?"

"We're borrowing Dimitri. He looks just the part in a suit. He'll handle the negotiations, and Patrick Grimaldi from six, and Ed Fairweather – my cousin's son – will be there for the handing over. Six has considerable presence in Cape Town, so there will be operatives on standby, and a plane ready nearby. There is an airfield five miles south of the farm."

"I'm curious, of course, but if I ever ask you what the plan is, remind me that I don't want to know. It's best I don't know."

"Do you trust me, Harry?"

"I have to, don't I?" The truth is, he doesn't even trust himself where Ruth is concerned. He is now more fearful about what could go wrong in this attempt to extract Ruth than he was grief-stricken by her death. Were he to be directly involved, he'd probably destroy any chance of success with his nervousness over her safety. In a way, he wishes he hadn't known Ruth had been kidnapped. He would have been happy to learn of her freedom after she'd been brought home, but it was the waiting for the operation to take place which is sending his nervous system into overdrive.

* * *

_Cape Town, South Africa – January 30th 2012:_

Dimitri Levendis resists the urge to pull at his collar in an effort to allow some air to flow. He is not normally a collar and tie man, but he knows his tall frame is suited to more formal attire, and he looks the part. The room in which he is meeting Ruth's captors is not air-conditioned, and he feels the sweat pouring down his back, under his shirt and jacket.

"Do you have the money?" Djuracic says.

"It's ready to be transferred into the account you requested. I need to hear from my men that you are ready to hand her over to them. Until she leaves the compound, no transfer will occur."

"And if you take the woman, and we receive no money within two minutes, Branko here will empty his gun into you. Branko enjoys killing people. We've had to keep him away from that woman. There are other things he enjoys."

Dimitri's mobile rings. He smiles as the ringtone – the chimes of Big Ben – fills the room. "Yes?" he answers. "Okay. I'll let the money man know." He ends the call, and then rings Tariq's mobile in London. "It's a go," he says. "The transfer can go ahead. How long will it take? Yeah? Good." He ends the call, and looks up at Dragan Djuracic, a young Serbian not much older than himself. "The money should be there now. It's been transferred."

Djuracic speaks into his comms. "Pieter? The money has been …... It has? Excellent. Goran, Tomas …... let the woman go, and no messing it up this time." And to Dimitri. "We have little use for her. She refuses to speak. Perhaps she is deaf, perhaps she is mentally …... you know?" He twirls his finger in a circle next to his head as he rolls his eyes. "Who knows? I no longer care. Good riddance to her. No-one else was prepared to pay for her. Good to do business with you, Mr Constantin. You have my card. Call me if you need anything."

They shake hands, and Dimitri leaves the room, hoping that Djuracic's henchmen do not try to transfer the money to other accounts. Should they attempt that before he and the others leave the vicinity, things could get nasty. He'll need to reach the airfield in thirty minutes, and to do that, his African driver will have to drive like the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

_The Grid, London – 30th January 2012:_

Tariq looks up from his monitor to where Harry Pearce sits in his office in half-darkness. It is now 5:45 am in London, meaning it would be 7:45 in Cape Town, and the money he transferred to the Swiss bank account has not been touched. This means that Dimitri and Ed have had ample time to leave South Africa by air, and that it is probably safe to again ring Dimitri, just to check that the extraction has gone ahead as planned.

"Dimitri?"

"All's well, Tariq," Dimitri says warmly. "We're airborne – just - we have her, and ETA is in fourteen hours."

"It'll be dark," Tariq says.

"Yes, well, that's true, but these flying airships have lights these days, Tariq."

"Yeah, thanks for that. How's the cargo?"

"She's …... we have a medic on board, and she's checking over our cargo. You can tell Harry she's well, but shell-shocked. She'll need a lot of TLC when we get her home. Someone who cares about her will need to spend a lot of time bringing her back to good health. If you know what I mean."

"I'll tell him," Tariq says, before signing off.

Tariq hesitates outside the closed door to Harry's office. Tariq likes Harry. Likes is perhaps too strong a sentiment; he admires him, respects him, and often wishes he could be more like him, but Harry and Tariq have about as much in common as a lion has with a puppy.

"If you're coming in, then open the bloody door, Tariq," says Harry, his voice raised in irritation.

Tariq slides open the door, glancing at Harry, checking that he's not angry, but only on edge. "Sit down, Tariq. I didn't mean to raise my voice."

Tariq quietly crosses Harry's office to sit in the chair which Harry indicates with his hand.

"You have news?" Harry looks nervous.

"Yes, I do. Ruth – and all our operatives, plus Malcolm Wynn-Jones' cousin's son …..."

"Ed."

"Yes, Ed …... they're out of Africa …..."

Harry smiles at Tariq's choice of words, and Tariq stops speaking. "_Out Of Africa_ is the name of a movie, Tariq. It was a movie based on the true story of a Danish-born writer. I doubt you've even heard of it."

"You're right. I haven't."

"It starred Meryl Streep and Robert Redford …..."

"Robert who?"

"Never mind. How long before the cargo lands?"

"ETA at the military airfield in Lancashire is 7.45 pm. Depending on wind speeds and all that stuff, it may be a half hour later than that. I'm assuming you'll be meeting it?"

"You've assumed right, Tariq."

Tariq is standing ready to leave when Harry again speaks. "Tariq, one more thing. Where did the money come from?"

"The money?"

"You know. The money to pay Ruth's kidnappers."

Tariq smiles. "That was my contribution to Operation Sleeping Beauty."

"I know how much you earn, Tariq, so I know you didn't come up with the money. How, pray tell, did you `contribute'?"

Tariq sits back down, a mischievous smile forming around his eyes. "I've written this genius little program that allows me to set up a dummy account with dummy money. It allows me to transfer said fake money into any account in the world. It appears in the other account until such time that the other party attempts to either withdraw it, convert it to another currency, or transfer it to another account. In all three cases, the money disappears …... poof …... into cyberspace. And the best thing is, it leaves absolutely no trace that a transaction ever took place."

"That's genius, Tariq."

"I know."

"You'd best keep that program under your hat, Tariq. It could be .. er ….."

"Dangerous in the wrong hands. I know."

"And one other thing before you go. You said …... er …... the operation is being called Sleeping Beauty …... Can you perhaps explain that to an old man?"

"You're not that old, Harry, just middle-aged."

"Thank you."

Tariq shifts uncomfortably in his chair. "Harry, can you keep a secret?"

Harry folds his hands on the desk in front of him, and leans forward, squinting his eyes, peering at Tariq, a shadow of a smile on his lips. "I am a spy, Tariq, and as such I am the very essence of discretion."

"It was Dimitri's idea. Well, Dimitri and Calum thought of it together." Tariq then drops his voice so that he is almost whispering. "The idea is that we thought Ruth was dead, but in truth she's just been sleeping."

"Perhaps that's stretching the metaphor, Tariq."

"That's what I said, but the best bit is that she'll be woken by a kiss from the prince who loves her. That's you, Harry, except you're a knight, and not a prince, but that shouldn't destroy the metaphor totally."

"That's very …... er … interesting, Tariq. What happens if I don't …... if I don't kiss Ruth?"

"You have to kiss her, Harry. If you love her, you have to kiss her. That's how all the fairy stories end."

"And does Ruth have a say in this?"

"Of course. When she sees you, she'll expect you to kiss her." Seeing the smirk on Harry's face, Tariq stops speaking for a moment. "You're taking the piss, aren't you Harry?"

"Only marginally. Thank you for your work, Tariq. I'll make sure Ruth knows the part you played in her rescue."

Tariq leaves Harry's office, relieved that his boss's sense of humour has returned. They had all missed Ruth, but no-one more than Harry. Even Tariq could see that his boss was grieving deeply. He is looking forward to the imminent return of the old Harry, the one who shouts at him for no reason. He's missed that Harry.

* * *

Cottage in Suffolk - 6 hours later:

Harry has no idea if Ruth will be happy to come back to this cottage and stay with him. She might not want to see him at all. After all, he hadn't kept her safe. He'd allowed her to take the attack from Sasha Gavrik. To be honest, Harry had not expected Sasha to carry out his threat. He'd believed that both he and Ruth had been safe from mortal harm. He'd expected to get a gash in the arm or the shoulder, but Ruth's injury had shocked and surprised him.

He's brought in enough food to last them 2 weeks at least. There's wine, whiskey, the freezer is full, and he bought every kind of breakfast cereal available in the shop in the village, not even knowing whether Ruth ate cereal. He feels he needs to cover all possibilities. He even had Erin go shopping in London for clothes for Ruth – underwear, jeans, skirts, shirts, pyjamas, coats, socks, shoes, tights, and anything else he hadn't considered, such as personal toiletries, brushes, combs, toothpaste, soaps, shampoo, tampons, skin lotions. He is no longer an expert on what women wear. It has been many years since he's undressed a woman, and he has no idea if Ruth would ever allow him near her. For all he knows, she may have spent the last five months cursing him for his inability to protect her.

He changes the bedding on the double bed. This is to be Ruth's bed, and he plans to sleep next door on the sofa bed. He's even bought bedding which he hopes will help her feel at home. Erin had assisted him in making his choice. He was ready to buy a striped duvet in pastel colours, but Erin suggested one with a floral pattern. The colour scheme he's chosen for her room is pale blue and lavender, with a little white and primrose. The pattern on the duvet is soft and subtle, like Ruth herself. Looking back at the bed from the doorway, he imagines Ruth in here, and his heart races. He knows to not expect too much from her, perhaps ever. He has little idea what she has had to live through. But he has hope. He hopes that one day soon they can again find the – largely unspoken - love they'd had before she'd been taken from him.

He visits the doctor in the village, and has her sign the Official Secrets Act. Lesley Fleming also has a degree in Clinical Psychology, and has expressed an interest in speaking to Ruth about her time of incarceration.

"Until Ruth regains her own identity, it will be difficult for you to treat her under the NHS," Harry says. "Perhaps we can come to some monetary arrangement."

"We can talk about that when I see her the first time. I have a number of private patients, so I can accommodate that. When do you expect I can first see her?"

"Hopefully, within the next few days," Harry says. "I don't yet know what state she's in."

"And what relationship is she to you, Mr Pearce?"

"I'm her …... er …... I care for her very deeply."

* * *

Harry leaves Suffolk for Lancashire with ample time on his hands. He has a deep fear of being late to meet Ruth. More than anything, he doesn't wish to let her down. He stops beside the road just as he crosses into Lancashire, and rings Dimitri.

A sleepy voice answers him. "We're still on our way, Harry."

"I know, and I'm sorry if I woke you."

"That's okay, I'd only just nodded off, but I know you're anxious about Ruth."

"Can I speak to her?"

"She's been sleep for the last five hours, Harry. I don't want to disturb her."

"That's not code for she doesn't wish to speak to me, is it?"

"No. _No_, of course not. She's worn out. She's spent the last five months being on edge, so she needs to relax a little."

Harry hesitates, not sure how to word his next question. He shouldn't have been concerned. It is as though Dimitri can read his thoughts.

"Ruth hasn't said very much at all, Harry. She thanked us for rescuing her. But she asked me about you."

"What did she say?"

"She asked me why you hadn't gone to Cape Town to get her."

"What did you say?"

"I told her the truth. That you were afraid of being too close to everything."

"Good, good. Thanks."

"And Harry …... she hasn't asked after anyone else. Just you."

Harry ends the call, a smile on his face.

* * *

_Military airfield – Lancashire – 2 hours later:_

Harry has parked a little way from the runway. He has the car facing east, from where the plane will probably descend. Suddenly his phone rings. It's Dimitri.

"We're about ten minutes away, Harry. Ruth is awake, and she's looking forward to being home. I haven't told her you're waiting for her. I thought that could be a surprise."

"Thank you, Dimitri, and …... thank you for …... everything."

"Just doing my job."

Harry smiles as he closes his phone. As cold as it is outside his car, he is nervous and agitated, so he steps out of the car and begins walking quickly around outside, on the edge of the runway. His staff would have called it pacing, but he is walking off all the nervous tension and worry which have built up inside his body during the previous few days. Naturally enough, he is worried about Ruth. He worries about her mental state, her physical state, the state of her emotions. He knows the effect incarceration can have, and so far he knows almost nothing about what has happened to her in the five months since her capture. She may have been beaten, or tortured, sexually abused and used. He imagines her being pack raped by a group of burly, sex-crazed men, and the bile rises at the back of his throat. He accepts that she may be so broken that even his love for her will not be tonic enough to mend her.

He sees the lights of the plane as it banks slightly to descend at the northern end of the runway. He can hear his heart beating, so rapidly that it must surely explode inside his chest. Then the plane lands, taxis to the end of the runway, turns, and then taxis back level to where his car is parked, headlights on low beam. It is then he see another car, parked further away, near the disused airport building. Calum steps out of the car and joins him.

"Hello," Calum says. "I'm here to pick up everyone other than Ruth. I'm assuming that'll be your job."

"Yes, I hope so."

Everything then happens quite quickly. People descend from the plane – Dimitri, along with the bulky shape of Ed Fairweather, and then he sees two shapes in the doorway of the plane. Both are female. One is small and slight, the other a little taller, perhaps older, and heavier."

"That's the doctor with Ruth," Dimitri explains. "She'll be handing Ruth over to you."

"Does Ruth know I'm here?"

"No, Harry. I kept your secret."

Harry can wait no longer. He quickly walks towards the plane, stopping about three yards short of the steps. When she reaches the ground, the doctor lets go of Ruth, and seeing Harry standing there, his eyes on Ruth, she walks past Harry to join Dimitri. Then Ruth's eyes meet his. It is just Ruth and Harry, Harry and Ruth, together at last. They stand like two statues, frozen to the spots on which they stand. Harry is aware that all conversation has ceased, telling him the small group of people behind him are waiting and watching.

He and Ruth are `the show'. Raise the curtain. Strike up the band.

Despite the gloom, they can each see the eyes of the other – her blue eyes seeking his hazel. He can bear the tension no longer. He reaches his arms out towards her, and very slowly and deliberately, she walks towards him.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/N: Thanks to all who are reading, and especially to those who leave reviews. Much appreciated._**

* * *

Ruth stops just short of him, out of the reach of his arms, but her eyes never leave his. "Harry," she says, so quietly only he can hear. It takes him only two short steps to reach her, and he gathers her to him, and holds her loosely against his chest. She feels so small and frail in his arms, and he is afraid to hold her tightly for fear of crushing her.

"I won't break, Harry," she says, pushing her body closer to him, and slipping her arms around his waist.

He holds her closer, until he feels her sobs, as they firstly build up from within her body, and then spill over into tears. "I've missed …..." she sobs, but never finishes the sentence.

He holds her until her tears stop. Time has stopped for them both, but it feels like around ten minutes that they have been standing on the tarmac, holding on to one another. He feels her hands running up and down his back. "You feel so good, so solid," she says.

Behind them, the pilot is talking to Dimitri about having to fly on to Manchester airport, and he can hear people saying their goodbyes and job-well-dones. He and Ruth still hold one another, afraid that were they to let go of the other, something may happen to pull them apart forever. He feels Ruth wiping her face on his coat, so he pulls back slightly to pull a clean handkerchief from the pocket of his jacket.

"Are you always this prepared, Harry?"

"No. You know me better than that. With some things I've been totally unprepared." After she wipes her face, he takes the handkerchief from her and slips it back in his pocket. Thinking of Tariq's words, he decides to ask her another question. "Ruth …... I'd like to kiss you. Do you mind?"

"But Harry, I'm grubby, and I haven't cleaned my teeth …..."

"It's just a small kiss, Ruth." Before she has another chance to object, he leans down and places his lips gently on hers. There is not one ounce of passion in that kiss, but there is an enormous amount of love. When he lifts his face from hers, he sees tears glistening in her eyes.

"Every other time you've kissed me, it's been to say goodbye," she says. "Is it not surprising that I'm afraid of your kiss?"

"That's not goodbye, Ruth. That's a kiss of welcome home."

* * *

Ruth sleeps for most of the drive back to Suffolk. Harry hasn't told her where they are headed, and she hasn't asked.

It is getting on for two o'clock in the morning when Harry turns the car down the lane to Ruth's cottage. As tired as he is, he is energised by the prospect of her stepping into her cottage, and seeing it as he sees it. She wakes only after he turns off the engine.

"We're home, Ruth. This is your home now, and it's my home also. I hope you don't mind."

The front of the cottage is lit by a streetlight on the far side of the road. Ruth's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. "Harry," she says at last, "you've bought my cottage?"

Harry gets out of the car and opens her door and helps her out on to the footpath. "What do you think?" he asks, suddenly nervous about her reaction.

"I'm glad to see you haven't painted the front door," she says, as he turns the key in the lock to let them in.

"I remembered what you said about liking it as it is."

Inside, Harry shows her through her cottage, pointing out any walls he had painted, and the furniture he'd brought from London.

"Are you hungry?" he asks at last.

She nodded. "A little. I could do with something plain, like bread and cheese."

"I have as much bread and cheese as you can eat," he says, as she sits at the table while he prepares a small meal for them. "Tea?" he asks, and she nods, smiling.

They eat in silence. Ruth only picks at her bread and cheese and celery, but she drinks three large mugs of English Breakfast. "That is _so_ good," she says, as she downs the last cup of tea.

Harry begins putting things away, when Ruth speaks quietly. "Harry, can I have a bath?"

"Ruth, I'm not your captor. You can have a bath any time, and as often as you want. I'll go and run it for you if you like."

"No, I'll do it. I feel like a very hot and soapy bath."

Ruth had been in the bath for around forty five minutes when Harry finds himself almost asleep on his feet. He has to go to bed, but he wants to first let Ruth know. He knocks on the bathroom door, and calls out her name.

"You can come in," she says.

He opens the door only a little, and sticks his head around it, not sure if he's heard her correctly. "Ruth?"

"You can come in, Harry. The bubbles are covering me, not that I'm much to look at these days."

He takes a few steps into the room, and sees that she is right. The surface of the water is covered in bubbles, so that only her head is visible. "How did you know to get all this stuff?" she asks, pointing to the bottles of shampoo, conditioner, oils, bath and shower gel, openly displayed on the shelf above the bath.

"Erin maxed out my credit card. I have little idea what women use to keep themselves smelling amazing."

"Thank her for me. I've spent the past five months smelling dreadful."

"I need to tell you that your room is the big one, the one with the double bed. I'll be sleeping in my office."

She looks up at him through her eyelashes. "I don't want to throw you out of your room, Harry. I could have slept in the smaller bedroom."

"No, Ruth. The larger bedroom is yours. I came to tell you I'm out on my feet, and I'm going to bed. You can stay in the bath all night if you like."

"I might just do that. You've no idea what luxury a bath is for me. Good night, Harry."

"Good night, Ruth." He hesitates briefly, wanting to kiss her goodnight, but then he considers that perhaps one kiss in the past 24 hours may be enough for now. He leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

* * *

It is still dark when he feels someone in his room. He opens his eyes, and then slowly turns so that he can see the doorway. Sitting in the armchair just inside the door, dressed in her new pyjamas and dressing gown, is Ruth, and she is watching him, her eyes wide.

"Ruth …... is anything wrong?"

"No... well …. yes. I couldn't sleep. I tried, but I spent most of the day sleeping …... in the plane. I wondered if I could get into bed with you. We've spent so long apart, Harry. I just thought …... maybe ….."

Against his better judgement, Harry lifts his duvet to allow her to climb in beside him. She throws off her dressing gown, and slides under the duvet. He lets the duvet drop to cover her, and they nestle together.

"Ruth, perhaps if you turn your back and I'll put my arm around you." She does as he asks, and in the spoon position, they drift off to sleep.

Harry has no idea how much time passes before he again wakes, this time to feel Ruth's hands under his t shirt, and her toes moving up and down his leg. He pulls away from her, wondering if she's still asleep and perhaps having an erotic dream. Her eyes are open, and they are trained on him.

"I'm having trouble sleeping, Harry. I just thought …... well ….. sex is supposed to be good for insomnia."

He grasps her hands in his and pulls them from under his shirt to resting in his, away from his body. "Ruth, I have very little resistance where you are concerned. You must know that. But to be doing this now, so soon after you've come home …... I don't think it's a good idea, and …..."

She silences him by putting her mouth on his, and running her tongue over his bottom lip. With the greatest of regret, he pulls away from her, and then he sits up in bed. "I want this, Ruth, but not now, not yet." He reaches out to her, and grasps both her arms, holding them away from him.

Which is when everything changes.

He watches, as if in slow motion, her face change from soft and pleading to a twisted rage. She sits up on her knees, and begins to lash out at him.

"_Get your fucking hands off me, you fucking pervert!_" She screams at him, lunging at him, slapping him with her hands. It is when she lands a punch directly on his jaw that he acts.

Harry grasps her hands and holds them away from him, trying to not grasp her too tightly. Her strength has surprised him, given she appears to be so frail. He knows what is happening to her, and all he wants to do is to make it better for her. She struggles against him until she collapses on the bed beside him, her sobs coming slowly, from a place deep inside her. He wants to be able to step into that dark place inside her, and using bleach and a scourer, scrub away her bad memories. But he knows he can't.

When she begins to cry, he lets go of her hands. As he does, she curls into a foetal ball, her tears and sobs the only sounds in the room. He longs to hold her, but is not sure whether his touch will be welcome. After a while, he notices that her crying has stopped, and that she is asleep. He covers her with the duvet, and turns on the desk lamp, just in case she wakes and is frightened. He can remember doing the same on the rare nights he put Catherine and Graham to bed when they were small. He leaves the door slightly ajar, and goes next door to his own bed.

* * *

It is ten o'clock before Harry wakes, and on his way downstairs he checks on Ruth, and finds her dead to the world. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he closes the door to the office, having left the desk lamp burning. It is quite grey outside, and so lights will be needed indoors. In the kitchen he makes himself some toast and coffee. Taking both to the table, he dials Lesley Fleming's number. She picks up on the first ring. Fortuitously, she has just had a cancellation, and she can fit him in at eleven o'clock. Harry is wary of leaving Ruth on her own, so he leaves her a note, and places it next to the teapot, using the tin of English Breakfast to secure it.

* * *

Back home again after his appointment with Dr Fleming, Harry listens for signs of Ruth being awake. He's sure he can hear the bath water running. He takes the stairs two at a time, and knocks on the bathroom door.

"Ruth? Is it alright if I come in?" He's aware that he sounds desperate, and it's possible Ruth may interpret his question as him wanting to get a look at a naked woman. He currently feels nothing sexual for Ruth, and the realisation shocks him. He can barely remember a time when he didn't long for her, holding to him every touch of her hand, or special look that she'd given him. He has no doubt of his love for her, but his sexual drive to have her is no longer there. He hopes it will return when – and if – she regains her health.

Inside the bathroom, Ruth is again luxuriating in a bath full of bubbles. The smell of lavender is almost overpowering.

"Have you eaten?" Harry asks, recognising the parental tone in his voice.

"No, but if you bring me some tea and toast, and put it next to me, on that chair," she points to the chair near the wall, the chair on which she has thrown her pyjamas. "Perhaps we can share the tea, and talk while I try to get clean."

Relieved to have something to do, Harry takes his time over making her two slices of toast – one with jam, and the other with plain butter – and a pot of tea. He prepares a tray, and carries it upstairs to the bathroom. They talk about things of little consequence – the type of jam he'd used, the fact that he uses real butter, and not some kind of dairy substitute – and the time passes, and they grow more at ease with one another. The events during the night are never mentioned. Harry tells her of his visit to the doctor, and that he has asked her to visit Ruth at home at three o'clock.

"Do I need a doctor, Harry? Is that what you're saying?"

"She'll check you over, and she said you'd need a Vitamin B12 injection to help boost your appetite. She's a psychologist, too, so you might feel more comfortable speaking to her than to me. About what happened."

"I just want to forget what happened."

"You can't, Ruth. You have to talk to someone. It's not in the past, it's here ... now. It's the reason you feel the need to have so many baths."

"This is only my second bath, Harry. I'm trying to make up for all the time I haven't been able to have a bath."

"I know, I'm sorry." Internally he kicks himself.

* * *

"Harry, can you to hold my hand while I have this injection? I'm a bit of a baby with needles."

So he holds her hand while Dr Fleming gives Ruth her vitamin shot, and then he leaves the cottage to walk to the beach. As cold as the air is when he breathes it into his lungs, he needs to get away from the cottage, and away from Ruth for a while. Being around her in her current state is at once distressing as well as guilt-inducing, and his is having difficulty adjusting.

When he reaches the beach, he stands on a sand dune, and stares out to the North Sea, grey and uninviting. He fills his lungs with air, and tries to empty his mind. He admits to himself that he is afraid that the old Ruth - his Ruth - may be gone from him forever, and that he may have to care for this broken Ruth for the rest of his life. If that is what is needed, he will do it, but he can't help regretting the choices he made on the day Ruth was stabbed.

By the time he gets back home, Dr Fleming is preparing to leave. Harry sees her to the door. He wants to ask her about Ruth's condition, but also knows that she has a professional code to adhere to. Despite knowing that, he asks anyway.

"I can't break doctor-patient confidentiality, but I have suggested that Ruth tell you some of what she told me." The doctor hesitates just before she turns to leave. "I would suggest that you allow her to determine the pace of her healing. If she wants to spend hours at a time in the bath, then let her. She won't always be like this. She loves you, and she wants to come back to you. It's just that she doesn't yet know how to do that. Give her time, Harry, and love her anyway, even when you don't like her very much."

With those words ringing in his ears, Harry slowly closes the door as Lesley Fleming leaves.


	4. Chapter 4

_Suffolk cottage – mid-March 2012:_

Their time together in the cottage passes quickly and quietly, with them developing a steady and predictable routine to their days and nights. They again feel comfortable with one another, and their affection for one another is returning in healthy ways. They each sleep alone – Harry in the larger room, and Ruth on the sofa bed. She'd convinced him that this is the better arrangement, because the office is next to the bathroom, so that if she feels the need for a bath during the night, she won't disturb his sleep. They have again learned to laugh about silly things, and tease one another – she about his whiskey drinking, and his tidiness around the house, and he about her penchant for bread and cheese, and her lavender baths, and mostly, her ridiculous fluffy blue slippers with bunny ears. Ruth hasn't mentioned her time of incarceration, and at Lesley Fleming's suggestion, he is leaving that up to Ruth to determine if and when they talk about it. Best of all, Ruth is responding well to the vitamin injections, and Harry observes with pleasure how well her body is filling out. He longs for the time when he can again admire her curves. Her appetite increases daily, and along with it her ability to tolerate a variety of foods.

"I feel like a roast tonight," she says one morning as they're tidying the kitchen after breakfast. "It can be on me. I'll buy the food and cook it for dinner. And wine. I think we should drink wine with it. What do you think?"

He's happy that she has a plan for the day. She has drifted through her days for six weeks now, and her enthusiasm for cooking a roast meal for them both is infectious. He decides to take a walk to the beach while she takes the Range Rover to the shops. As he is about to leave for his walk, Ruth grasps his hand and leans in to kiss him. The kiss is over almost before he is aware what she's doing, but he thinks about it far too much as he walks along the lane which leads to the ocean. They have not had any real physical contact since she'd climbed into bed with him during the night all those weeks ago. After her reaction to him in bed that night, he has been reluctant to touch her for fear of how she will react. He has been waiting for her to be the one to initiate their physical contact. The last thing he wants is to make a wrong move, and to throw them back to where she was when she was first rescued. Perhaps the kiss had meant something. Perhaps it had just been a kiss, but it has shown him that his physical desire for her is alive and well. He still wants her, but he is prepared to wait.

When Harry arrives home two hours later, Ruth is still not home, but he is not bothered by this. She hadn't said where she was planning to shop, and she had no need to explain her movements to him. She may have driven to Ipswich for clothes. It is then that something hits him, something he does not like about himself, and his desire to protect Ruth by keeping her `safe' here in the cottage with him. Ruth has yet to gain access to her own bank accounts, so he has been giving her money for her own spending. Pocket money, like he'd once given Catherine and Graham. Her mobile phone had been archived with her other possessions, and he has not once thought that perhaps she could do with another one. Christ, he'd bought phones for his kids when they were in their mid teens, so that they could ring him whenever they wanted to talk to him.

He is not liking where his thoughts are taking him, so he spends the next two hours tidying up the cottage, and then cleaning – the bathroom and toilet, then the bedrooms, and then when Ruth has still not come home, he begins on the downstairs. By lunchtime the cottage is immaculate, but his mind is in turmoil. Harry is used to there being a solution to every problem, and if no solution exists, then he can usually create one. In the case of Ruth having been missing for over four hours, he doesn't know where to begin. He considers ringing Malcolm for advice, but sometimes Malcolm's sensible approach irks him. Besides, he knows what Malcolm with say; _Ruth is an adult, Harry. She'll come home when she's ready. In the meantime, keep yourself occupied._ His instincts are telling him that given he's a spook, and still technically Section Head, why not use the resources of the Grid. He dials Tariq's mobile.

An hour later, Tariq calls back.

"Sorry I took so long, Harry, but I've found the Range Rover. It's in London, and it's parked outside this address."

As soon as Tariq says, `number 53', Harry knows what he'll say next. Ruth is at Malcolm's house.

He could ring Malcolm, but then she'd know that he'd had Tariq do a search for the Range Rover. To his credit, Tariq had asked no questions, and Harry had not offered an explanation.

Having not heard from Ruth by 11pm, Harry falls into bed, wondering where and how it had all gone wrong. He acknowledges that he has been over-protective of Ruth, keeping her to himself, and not allowing her to be exposed to anything which may exacerbate her trauma. He is in that dreamy place between waking and sleeping when it hits him like a well delivered punch. In his desire to keep Ruth safe in this cottage which he had bought in part to keep something of her with him for the rest of his life, he has become her captor. He has simply stepped into the role formerly held by those who had held her against her will. While her original captors may have been motivated by greed or the quest for power, and he believes he has been keeping her safe out of love for her, the end result has been very similar, and Ruth has reacted in the only way she knows. She has run from him as a demonstration that she can, and that she is ready to have her freedom back.

He lies on his back, staring at the ceiling, feeling angry towards himself, knowing he has to let go of his need to make things better for her, and to allow Ruth to sort out what it is she wants. If she wants to spend time with Malcolm – rather than him – then he has to accept that as her decision. Thinking about what to do about Ruth – and coming up with no satisfactory solution – has resulted in a degree of arousal, something which has been missing since before she'd `died'. As with his inability to recognise Ruth's need for independence, he is irritated by his body's need for release, and he wonders whether Ruth has been feeling the same way. He eventually falls asleep, but his sleep is troubled, and he awakes feeling unrested.

Next day, still with no sign of Ruth, Harry walks to the shops to stock up on food. He has a late lunch at the pub, and casual conversations with some of the locals, something he'd not done since Ruth had been rescued. He downs pints with Ted and Keith and Reuben, and a couple of others whose names he always forgets, and for an hour or so he experiences a sense that he is normal …... like everyone else.

Harry has packed away the shopping, and is considering what to have for dinner when his mobile rings. A number he doesn't recognise shows on his phone's display, but he answers it anyway.

"Yes," he says, warily.

"Harry, it's me."

He sighs heavily, relieved to hear her voice. "Ruth - thank God."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you I was going to London. I'm at Malcolm's. He's told me I should ring you."

His heart again feels pain. It hasn't been her idea to ring him. He has been ignoring the little jerks and lifts of his heart over the past weeks since Ruth has been back. It is only in relation to her – and his children, too - that his body is so affected by his emotions.

"I just came here to …..." she continues.

"To get away from me," he says with some finality.

"In a way. This is my phone number, so you can add it to your address book. I bought a phone."

"That's good. I'm glad."

"I'm just ringing to tell you that I'm fine and I'll probably come home later today. I have a surprise for you. I love you."

"Right," he says, too stunned to say anything else before he hangs up.

_What the hell does this all mean?_, he thinks, as he busies himself in the kitchen, reorganising the cupboards.

Harry has only just finished rearranging the kitchen cupboards, when his phone again rings.

"Malcolm," he answers on seeing the name on the phone's display.

"Do you have a few minutes, Harry? Ruth is having a lie down, and I need to talk to you before she goes home to you."

"Fire away."

"Firstly, I wanted her to ring you as soon as she arrived. I knew you'd panic."

"I did."

"And I also thought you might engage the resources of the grid, so I rang Tariq Masood. He was very cagey at first, but I told him it was an emergency."

"I'm not proud of doing that, Malcolm, but I didn't know what else to do. Had Tariq refused my request, my next lot of phone calls would have been to all the hospitals in the area. She didn't have a phone."

"Did you not consider she might need one?"

"To be honest, it hadn't crossed my mind."

"I don't wish to tread on either your toes or Ruth's, but she's told me what happened to her while she was being held captive. She told me everything. It took quite some time."

"Why couldn't she tell _me_? I thought we were getting close."

Malcolm hesitates, as though needing to choose his words carefully. "She was afraid of letting you down, Harry."

"But that's ridiculous. None of what happened to her was her fault."

"She needs you, Harry. She needs your love, but she believes that you're holding yourself from her because of what happened to her. She interprets that as having let you down."

"I've been waiting for her to trust me enough to tell me."

"Then bridge the gap between you. She's too afraid to try for fear you'll reject her. She only wants you to love her."

Harry thanks his friend, and then closes his phone. _But I thought I was loving her,_ his inner dialogue continues. _Love her like a woman,_ _Harry,_ he says to himself, _and not like the damaged person you still think of her as being._


	5. Chapter 5

Harry waits until he believes it is too late for her to be coming home, and he heads to bed. The tension from the past day and a half begins to leave him as he remembers something from Ruth's brief phone call to him. She loves him, and she's coming home today. She said `probably' about the coming home today. Suddenly happy from the realisation, he falls asleep.

He is woken from sleep by a noise downstairs. Through the half-open bedroom door, he sees light, Ruth must be home, burglars not being in the habit of turning on lights as they go. No sooner has he sat up and turned on the bedside lamp than he is attacked by a flying ball of fur.

"Scarlet!" he calls, as his little dog licks his face and does backward circles on top of the duvet. "You brought Scarlet home," he calls to Ruth, hoping she'll greet him in a similar way.

He lays back on his bed while Scarlet licks every area of his exposed skin. He fends her off, hugs her, and then sits up to see Ruth watching from the doorway. "Welcome home," he says, hoping his eyes convey how happy he is to see her. Clad only in a t shirt and track pants, both of which cling to his battered and aging body far more than he would like, he slides out of bed and walks to Ruth until he is almost touching her. "I'm glad you're back," he says quietly.

Not quite knowing what to do next, he leans towards her and meets her lips with his own, tentatively resting the tips of his fingers on her hips. She slides her arms around his neck, and pulls him closer, and then he feels her tongue flick his bottom lip. He opens his mouth to her, and draws her against him, his arms around her. She feels wonderful against him, and he suddenly has no memory of why he's been holding her away from him for so long. They both murmur into the other's mouth, a murmur of enjoyment and appreciation. It is Ruth who pulls out of the kiss, and he sighs as she puts distance between them.

"I have some unpacking to do," she says, giving him a quick peck before she leaves the room.

"Do you need any help?" he calls after her.

"No, but I'd enjoy your company."

Harry smiles as he puts on his bathrobe and slippers, and follows her downstairs, Scarlet skittering down the stairs ahead of him.

* * *

"God, Ruth, what's all this?"

She looks up at him. They are in the dining room, and there are carry bags all over the table. He heads to the kitchen to make them some tea, and Ruth follows.

"You had Erin buy all my clothes, Harry. I needed to buy some that I liked."

"You didn't like the clothes Erin picked out?"

"Look at Erin, and then look at me, Harry. What do you see?"

"She's tall and you're short."

"Is that all?"

He knows there is a right answer. He just doesn't know what it is. "You're beautiful, and she's a bit hard, to be honest. She has a severe mouth, and a tight jaw."

"Oh, Harry. You didn't know how to answer that, did you? Don't you know that everyone considers Erin to be beautiful, and me to be plain?"

"Just who is this `everyone', Ruth?"

They look at one another across the counter top, and Harry is reminded of the many late nights on the Grid when they'd both worked back, and had caught one another watching the other. He feels his heart lift, just as it had on those late nights at work.

"Did you have enough money?"

"Yes. One of the reasons I went to London was to collect my proof of ID from Towers, so that I could access my bank account, which strangely had not been closed. William had it pushed through when they discovered I was alive. I blew quite a lot of my leave pay. I think he believes I'm coming back to work for him."

"Towers?"

"Yes, but I'm no longer interested in a job where there is a high probability of me meeting my death. Not now."

"Me neither," he says.

"Really?"

He nods.

"What will you do?"

"Learn to love you as you deserve to be loved, Ruth."

They leave Ruth's shopping in the dining room, and go upstairs together. He asks her to sleep in his bed with him, and she nods, smiling.

"I'll be in after I have a shower."

"No bath?"

"I've graduated to showers. Soon I'll be clean enough."

Harry turns from his bedroom doorway and reaches for her, grasping her hands in his own.

"Ruth," he says, "haven't you paid enough for what those bastards did to you?"

"Almost," she says, and pulls away from him.

By the time Ruth slips under the duvet, Harry is asleep. She reaches across to him, and puts her lips to his cheek, very gently so as to not wake him. He mumbles something, turns over, and grasps her hips in his hands. She turns her back to him, and slides into the spoon position. As she nestles closer, he mumbles something into her neck. It sounds like `I love you,' but she can't be sure.

* * *

Next morning they wake up together, something they've each long dreamed of doing. Ruth, realising he too is awake, turns in his arms to face him. Harry gives her one of his intense stares.

"You've had your hair cut," he says.

"You didn't notice it last night?"

"I was too busy looking at your face," he replies.

"Do you like it?"

"Your face? I love your face."

"My haircut."

"It's ... nice."

"Do you really care about my hair, Harry?"

"Not especially. If you're happy with it, I'm happy."

Ruth tucks her arms around his waist and draws him closer, and they kiss. The kiss becomes a proper snog, and then their bodies lock together, mouths, arms and hands, their legs wrapped in a complex sailor's knot, their chests and stomachs molded against each other, as their kiss deepens.

"You're obviously ready now, but can we perhaps take our time?" she asks.

He nods, feeling awkward in his detectable eagerness for more, with all his dreams and desires being presented to him for his indulgence. He pulls his body a little away from her, while he begins to remove her pyjamas, the top first. Ruth pushes his fingers away, and opens the top herself, tugging it away from her front, allowing it to slip from her shoulders. Harry's eyes are transfixed by her body. It is beautiful, perfect. His eyes meet hers for a moment, and he can see the fear in them.

"You're lovely, Ruth. I want to touch you, but I'm afraid …."

"Afraid?"

"I'm afraid I'll hurt you."

"My wound has healed completely."

His eyes hadn't even made it to the wound on her lower left side. The scar is still quite pink, but it has healed well.

"I spent the first two months of captivity in a special unit. They needed me healthy."

Harry's eyes darken at the mention of her captivity. He moves down her body and kisses her scar, while his fingers play with one of her nipples. He hears her murmur of appreciation, as he feels her body coming alive under his touch. Her fingers slip under his t shirt to gain access to his skin, so he lifts his arms to allow her to remove it. He again pulls her close to him, as chest to chest they lie, looking into one another's eyes. Hands glide over bare skin as eyes – blue and hazel – lock in a long gaze.

After some time, they are laying facing one another, and both are naked. It takes some getting used to. It has been a long time since either of them have been this way with another. Their first time together will feel like their first time ever. They lay together in silence, simply watching the person lying next to them. She puts her hands on his face to ensure he looks at her when she says what she is about to say.

"Harry …... I need to say this before we …... I need you to know something. When I was in Serbia, and then in South Africa, a number of things happened to me."

"Ruth, you don't have to …."

"I must." Her hands hold his face so that he cannot look down or away. "A number of things happened to me that were beyond my control, and I was abused, including sexually …... but I wasn't raped. I was forced to perform certain ….. acts on men, but not …... They didn't …... They said I was too old."

She watches his face, and she sees relief pass over it. It is quick, but it is there.

"Thank you for telling me."

"Had you wondered about that?"

He nods. She reaches closer to him and kisses him. She knows that her incarceration has damaged him also. His believing for five months that she was dead has damaged him, but then to have discovered that she'd been held captive was not easy for a man like Harry to learn about. She feels his arms around her, pulling her closer. It is time for them to take the next step. Somehow, she knows that for this, their first time, she must be the one to take charge. Harry is almost too afraid to hurt her, to risk further traumatising her, so if they are ever to do this, she must lead.

Ruth enjoys her role of leading him through their lovemaking. She feels powerful and strong, stronger than she'd ever have believed was possible for her, and she basks in the way Harry responds when she touches him. He is already aroused, so his arousal is not a problem. Her role is to determine the timing, something at which he has not shown great skill. It is she who decides when she is ready for them to come together, and then their bodies rock against the pillows, their eyes on each other. She reaches completion before him, and then encourages him to let go.

Afterwards they hold one another, both too awed for words. Her head rests on his shoulder, while his fingers softly stroke her side, and then down to her hip, and across the side of her buttock. Neither speak, and neither wish to move from the bed.

Outside this room, and outside this cottage, the world still turns. Villagers are going about their day as usual, shops are open, children are in school, the pub is already doing a steady trade, but they are still wrapped around one another. What they have done, after so many years of waiting and wondering, to-ing and fro-ing, loss and reunion, is beyond their expectations, beyond anything either have imagined, and so words simply fall short.

When Ruth's stomach begins rumbling, they both laugh quietly, knowing they will have to eat some time soon. Harry leans across and softly puts his lips on hers. It is barely a kiss, more like a glance. "Thank you," he says. _Thank you for trusting me. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for caring enough to come back home to me._

Then, from outside their bedroom door, they hear scratching. "Scarlet," they say together, and then laugh.

"I'd forgotten all about her," Harry says.

"Malcolm said he's going to miss her."

"Malcolm should get his own dog. Scarlet is mine."

* * *

_**A/N: And please forgive me writing Scarlet as ageless. I'm sure she's beyond skittering and leaping, but I thought she'd lighten the atmosphere.**_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Final chapter - M-ish. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed.**_

* * *

Harry is standing under the shower while Ruth rustles up lunch. They have had a lazy day indoors, since the rain began just after breakfast. His body feels like it has been stretched to capacity, twisted, bent a little, and then allowed to fall back into shape. Having been celibate for such a long time, he had forgotten how good his body feels, not just during sex, but afterwards as well. He is thinking he could go again, but doesn't want to suggest anything to Ruth, in case it had not been the same for her. They will have to navigate their intimate life carefully until they learn how to be together in this way.

"Harry, where have you hidden the dinner plates?" comes Ruth's cry from the kitchen.

That is when he remembers his cleaning frenzy and his need for rearranging the kitchen cupboards the day before. He turns off the water, and steps out of the shower.

* * *

"I love spring showers," Ruth says, snuggling up to Harry on the sofa. The fire in the grate is roaring and cracking, and Scarlet has made her home on a rug on the hearth, and only the promise of more food will budge her.

"I love spring showers, too, but I'm not all that enthusiastic about this deluge, the degree of which has not been experienced since a man called Noah built a rather large boat."

They have spent the day sorting through Ruth's purchases, and deciding which of her clothes can be given to charity, since not all of them will fit in her side of the wardrobe. It has been a lazy day, and they have enjoyed one another, firstly as lovers, then as companions, and now as partners.

Ruth reaches out her hand, and draws his face around so that she can kiss him. "Dearest Harry," she murmurs, "master of the superlative."

He smiles beneath her lips, and then takes her in his arms, and leans her back against the cushions. His kiss deepens, until they are both almost writhing in the embrace, Ruth having managed to sneak her fingers inside his trousers and underwear.

"Shall we?" Ruth asks, the remainder of her sentence understood.

Upstairs, they fling off their clothes, not caring where they land, and even though it is barely nine o'clock, they climb into bed. Again, Harry lets his partner take the lead. She is far bolder and even more aggressive than he would be were he leading, and she seems to enjoy her role. As Harry sees it, he is happy for Ruth to be doing anything at all which will help her to gain back a sense of having control over her own life. Obeying her instructions, he lies on his back while she navigates his whole body with her fingers and tongue. The effect on him is sweet, but excruciating. Eventually, he suggest that were she to continue on that way, he'd climax before he wanted to, and would be of little use to her after that.

Ruth takes pity on him, and as they come together, they both cry out, so exquisite is the sensation of their bodies being coupled in this way, her body forming a tight sheath around his flesh. Their bodies move in unison, sliding against one another, while all the time their hands touch and caress and glide over sweat-glistened skin. When they climax they each feel it from deep within them, and they know that they will be doing this as long as they are both physically capable. Perhaps had Ruth not had to go into exile after the Cotterdam incident, had another solution been found, they would surely have become lovers much sooner, but would they have appreciated it as much as they do now? She had once told him that timing is everything, and for them, timing has been the rock and the cliff-face which determines the flow of their own river.

Ruth falls asleep afterwards, while Harry lays awake for while, listening to the steady ebb and flow of her breathing. Only seven months ago, he had believed he had lost forever the opportunity to hear her breathing beside him after having made love. He has been given a second chance at loving her, and this time he'll not let it slip through his fingers.

_Suffolk cottage – Saturday 28th April 2012:_

"_In what has been the wettest April in the UK for over a 100 years..._." says the TV newsreader.

"Do we really need someone to point that out to us?" Harry says with irritation over breakfast. "Why is it we feel the need to learn about the weather from some suit on TV, when all anyone has to do is to put their head outside their front door for a moment and observe that it's pissing down with rain, and that their Ford Mondeo is floating down the street."

"You're just stir crazy, Harry. It won't be a failure on our part if we take the car to the pub for dinner. Better still, we can eat in tonight."

"No we cannot," he answers, with more vehemence than he'd intended.

"It's only dinner at the pub, Harry,"

"It's dinner for your birthday. We have to go out. I'm trying to establish a tradition here."

"Just so long as I don't run into Daphne, and have to listen to her telling me – for the hundredth time – about her sister who has two vaginas, and so has double the fun. I might have to go against my core moral values and slip something in her drink to shut her up."

"Daphne has been banned from the bistro, Ruth, and you know that management won't ban her totally. Her cider consumption alone ensures the pub turns a profit."

They are dressed ready to go to dinner when Harry draws out a small parcel from behind his back. "Happy birthday, Ruth," he says, leaning towards her to kiss her.

She puts both her arms around his neck to accept the kiss, and so it is a few minutes before she realises that he holds a gift in one hand. "But my birthday's not until tomorrow."

"This is your birthday weekend. Your birthday can last for as long as you like."

Ruth opens the parcel, and inside finds a small card, and an even smaller jeweller's box, the size just big enough to hold a ring. She holds her breath. They had not taken the time to discuss their future.

Ruth opens the card, and inside finds a gift certificate for an online book store.

"A thousand pounds, Harry! Are you _mad_?"

"No. …... just in love. You'll need to replenish your library, and for that you need money."

Ruth again reaches up to him to kiss him. She then reads what he'd written in the card.

"This card will have to stay in the bedroom," she says. "It's MA rated."

"True, but I hope you also understand the underlying sentiment."

She smiles at him, but decides to skip the kissing, just in case things get out of hand. She has noticed how anxious he is to be on time tonight. She opens the small box to find a ring – not an engagement ring, but a dress ring of sterling silver, with a large, oval turquoise set in the middle.

"Harry, that's lovely," she says, trying it on her ring finger, but finding it too big.

"I thought it could be worn on your middle finger. You know, so people don't think it's an engagement ring."

"Oh?"

"We haven't talked about this, Ruth, and I'm not the kind of man to present you with an engagement ring and expect you to be happy about it."

"Thank you for that. You obviously know me very well."

He slides the ring on the middle finger of her left hand, and it fits perfectly.

* * *

As they are about to leave for the hotel, there is another downpour, so they travel the short distance in the Range Rover, and they bring an umbrella for the walk between the carpark and the hotel.

"Was our going out tonight really necessary?" she asks, breathless after they'd negotiated puddles, running water in the gutters, and being splashed by cars entering the carpark.

"Just wait until you get inside, Ruth. I think you'll enjoy this."

"Don't tell me you've hired Rod Stewart to sing, Harry. I can't bear him."

Harry throws his head back and laughs heartily, just before he opens the door for them both to enter the bistro, and then stands back to allow Ruth to walk ahead of him. She looks up, shocked and surprised, to see a group of familiar faces standing beside the bar, their glasses raised to her.

"Alright everyone," Malcolm says, "One – two - _Happy birthday to you_ -" and he, Tariq, Dimitri, Erin, Calum, a junior analyst, Bridie, whom Ruth had been mentoring before she went to work for Towers, and an admin girl Calum had been eyeing off for months, all join Malcolm in singing _Happy Birthday._ After giving her three cheers, and then a round of loud clapping, Tariq and Calum stick their fingers in their mouths and whistle.

Ruth can't help herself. She begins to cry, turning to Harry, who is standing close behind her, and sobbing into his jacket. "Oh, Harry," she says, "I love you."

He puts his arms around her and speaks softly into her hair. "Most people are happy when they tell someone they love them."

"I _am_ happy," she says, "I usually laugh when I'm happy, but I cry when I'm really, _really_ happy."

"Glad to hear it," he says, as he takes her hand, and leads her across the room to join their friends.

_fin_


End file.
